Out of Our Element
by sams1ra
Summary: The night of November 2nd started out as just another night. Wee!Chester story. Twoshot.
1. Water

Out of Our Element

Disclaimer: Damn you Kripke…

Part of the Picture Perfect 'verse.

A/N: This is a two-shot, because things got lost when I tried writing it into a oneshot. A sort of 'before' and 'after'. The second part is already written, and will be posted soon.

Water

Lawrence, Kansas, November 2nd, 1983

"Dean, don't give your vegetables to Sammy, he's not old enough to eat them."

"But you're giving him carrots and potatoes." The four year old blonde protested. His little brother squealed with delight, spitting his pureed food all around and bouncing. "See? He likes it." Dean reasoned with his mother. Mary rolled her eyes, dabbing the six months old's chin with a somewhat clean washcloth. In her defense, the washcloth had been clean when dinner had started.

"Sam eats mashed food, not big boy food, Dean. He doesn't have his teeth yet." The young mother explained.

"Yuh huh! He bit me earlier. Left a mark." Dean said, forking the vegetables around in his plate, picking the cucumbers from all the rest and using his fingers to eat them.

"Really?" Mary asked, feeling around in baby Sammy's mouth.

"Ewwww!" Dean made a disgusted face. "You got baby drool all over you!"

"You know, I think you're right. I think Sammy's growing his first tooth. Ow!" Mary yelped, quickly pulling her finger away from the baby's mouth. Yep, definitely the beginning of a tooth there. Dean laughed, and Sammy squealed, reaching his hand into his food and taking a handful of puree. "Oh, Sam, no. No playing with your food." Mary said, quickly pulling the bowl away. "And that goes for you, too, young man." She told her oldest, who looked at her innocently. And then started laughing. "Sam!"

"He thinks potatoes are shampoo!" Dean laughed as his baby brother smeared his food all over his face and head, still squealing in delight, still bouncing around. Mary sighed. The novelty of baby Sammy laughing whenever Dean was laughing was quickly wearing off. If she hadn't known better, she could've sworn Sammy was going out of his way to make his big brother laugh.

"Finish your vegetables, Dean." Mary said, catching the baby's sticky hands and trying to clean them with the washcloth. A sidelong glance showed Dean munching on a carrot, all the cucumbers gone.

"Mommy? Is Daddy coming home soon?" Dean asked. Mary sighed inwardly. She'd been waiting for that question. Dean had asked it every day for the past three weeks.

John had been working overtime a lot lately. He was working twelve, fourteen hour days, coming home long after the boys were in bed. Dean missed his father, a lot, and Mary had to admit she missed her husband just as much. But the bills were piling up. They had forgotten how expensive new babies are.

John and Mary had been talking about Mary going back to work to ease the load a little. Dean was in preschool in the mornings anyway, and they could put Sammy in daycare. The boys miss their Daddy, Mary had argued, and John was missing out on everything.

It wasn't that John was all too happy to work all day, to come home after the kids were already asleep, too tired to do anything but eat and sleep. But they needed the money, and he was too proud to ask for help. They agreed to wait another six months before Mary would go back to work. The boys needed a parent that wasn't too tired to be with them.

"Mommy?" Dean asked again in a small voice.

"I'm sorry, baby. Daddy's working late again tonight. Maybe tomorrow." Mary offered, knowing John would probably work late tomorrow, too. She had to look away from her son's disappointed look, busying herself with his brother instead.

"But he promised!" Dean said in a small voice, "He said…"

"I know, sweetie," Mary stopped him. "Maybe he'll be back before you go to bed. Finish your chocolate milk." She quickly changed the subject. Dean pushed his glass aside, shrugging, pouting.

The last few times John had come home so late he had received the cold shoulder from his boy. It was almost like those first couple of days after they put Dean in daycare and he wouldn't even look at Mary. She suspected John would face a cold shoulder tonight too, if the boys were still awake when he came home.

"Hey, you want to have a pool tonight?" Mary suggested, trying to cheer the little boy up as she picked the baby up, shaking him a little so that all the food stuck to his clothes will fall onto the table and not the floor. Sam giggled, trying to catch his mother's hair, smear it with carrots and potatoes.

Dean looked up at his mother, and she could practically see the way his mind was racing. He loved it when she filled the tub with water deep enough for him to pretend it was a pool, but on the other hand, he was still angry.

Mary was so happy John hadn't been there a couple of weeks earlier, when Dean had asked if Daddy was working so late because he didn't like them anymore. She hated that her boy was growing insecure. She hated it more that John had thrown it in her face when she suggested she went back to work. One missing parent was enough, he had said. She had tried to explain that with her working, he wouldn't have to work such long hours, but John was just too tired to listen to her side of the argument.

"Can Sammy and I have a pool together?" Dean asked at last. Mary hesitated.

"I don't know…" she said, "Your brother's too small. If Daddy were here…" she needed another set of eyes, another set of hands to keep the baby safe and above water. But the look on Dean's face told her it was the wrong thing to say. Dean's eyes watered, and he got up from the table, not meeting his mother's eyes. Mary thought she heard him mutter 'But Daddy's never here' under his breath. She was going to have to talk with John again. He had to stop working these hours all the time, come home early once in a while and spend some time with his sons.

Sam became frustrated when Mary kept her hair out of his reach. He started crying and squirming in her hands.

"Dean?" Mary called out to her oldest, giving Sammy a toy to chew on. "You'll have to hold your brother all the time. You can't let go, okay?" she asked, watching as Dean's face went from sad, to confused, to happy.

"Really?" he asked excitedly. Mary smiled at him.

"Really." She said. "Go on, get upstairs and take your clothes off, I'll be up in a minute." Mary added, and Dean started running up the stairs. "Dean, no running up the stairs, you hear me? It's dangerous." She called after him and then sighed, looking at her squirming baby. "Your Daddy's gonna be in trouble when he gets back," she said, and Sam started babbling in baby talk. "Let's get you ready for that bath, okay?" Sam looked up at his mother, still talking his baby talk, all immersed in a conversation only he understood. Well, Dean understood it too, sometimes.

* * *

Sammy gurgled and laughed his little baby laugh, splashing water all over his brother and mother, making Dean laugh. It was so wonderful to hear the boys laugh. John would be sorry he missed this, Mary thought. 

She shrieked as baby Sam threw his rubber duck at her. His very wet rubber duck.

"Sammy! Just because you're taking a bath doesn't mean Mommy has to take one, too." Mary scolded, but smiled as the boys fooled around. She helped Sam sit up, holding him tightly as he kicked his legs, splashing water all around and having the time of his life. Sam loved his bath time, that's for sure.

Dean pretended to swim, putting his face close enough to the water to wet the tip of his nose.

"I'm diving Mommy! I can dive!" he said, and Sam kicked his foot, splashing water all over his brother's face.

Dean started coughing. For a moment, Mary wasn't sure whether to laugh or start worrying, but then Dean started laughing, and Sammy joined him, and there was no way Mary could keep from joining her boys. She ruffled Dean's hair.

"You okay there, sport?" she asked. Dean nodded, brushing wet hair out of his face. "Hey, why don't we sign you up for swimming lessons this summer?" Mary suggested, "Would you like that?"

"Yay!" Dean cried and started splashing water all around. Sammy protested quite loudly to that.

"Dean,"

"Sorry." Dean said, smiling sheepishly at her. Mary had to work very hard to keep a frown on her face when Dean was smiling at her like that, not that she was trying too hard at the moment. She helped Sam to his feet, not letting the baby put his weight on them just yet, but it was obvious what he was trying to do.

"Dean, sit up straight." Mary said, putting the baby in his brother's arms. Dean hugged his little brother, and Mary cursed herself for not bringing a camera. And then Dean made a disgusted face.

"Mommy! Sammy farted on me!" he complained. "Eeeeewwww!" he added dramatically. Sam squealed in pure delight, making his mother laugh.

"You did?" the young mother asked. The bubbles in the water answered her loud and clear. Along with Dean's 'eeeewww!'. Sam seemed rather happy about it.

"Come on, time to wash you boys up." Mary said, pulling the baby away from his brother.

"But mom," Dean drawled.

"I think Sammy's gonna poop soon. You want him to go in here?" Mary asked with a wink, garnering another disgusted 'eeeewwwwww!' and a shudder from her oldest. Mary laughed, taking the soap, and started scrubbing both her boys.

She thought they understood it meant bathtime was nearly over. She was wrong. Because, you see, soap makes bubbles.

"Mommy, Mommy, Sammy wants more soap." Dean said, laughing at the big pile of soap bubbles on top of his baby brother's head.

"No more soap, let's get you two out of the tub, okay?" Mary said, rinsing the soap from Sammy's head and pulling the plug, letting the water run down the drain. "Hold onto your brother, alright?" she asked, making sure Dean was holding on before turning back to prepare the towels for both boys. She carefully collected her six months old baby from his brother's arms, wrapping him in a towel. "Dean honey, you still have some soap on you. Do you need me to help you?"

"Nuh uh, I'm a big boy!" Dean said, washing the rest of the soap away. Mary helped him out of the tub after making sure there really was no soap left, handing him a towel. Dean hesitated a moment before taking it.

"I'm sorry, honey, we'll make a burrito after I put Sammy down, okay?" Mary asked, and Dean nodded lightly, following his mother and brother to his parent's bedroom, leaving little wet footprints behind. Mary carefully laid Sammy onto the bed. She had to stop him from turning over on his stomach three times before she managed to put the diaper on him. Dean was still dripping water by the time she finished dressing Sammy. Dean was old enough to dry himself and get into his pajama by himself, but he still liked their bath ritual, even more so since Sammy was born. Mary propped up pillows all around Sammy to prevent him from going anywhere and turned to her oldest.

"You still want a burrito?" she asked, and Dean nodded enthusiastically. Mary smiled. She dried his face first, then removed his towel, wrapping it tightly around him like a burrito wrap. He used to love playing that game, still did, but with the baby, they rarely had time for this, unless both Mary and John were home. Mary tickled Dean's neck, kissing the top of his nose, then dried him off quickly.

It wasn't what the toddler was waiting for, she knew that, but she had to get Sammy dressed, prepare his midnight bottle and get the boys to sleep.

"But Mommy…" Dean protested, as Mary knew he would.

"Get your PJ's on, sweetie, okay?" Dean sighed a little sigh and reached for his underwear and his pajama. He was dressed by the time Mary finished dressing the baby.

"You want to help me make Sammy's bottle?" Mary asked. It was hard; taking care of a very demanding baby, and sometimes she just wished she had an extra pair of hands so she could give Dean the attention he craved and deserved. She was definitely going to have that chat with John when he came home.

Dean shrugged, tugging at his wet towel as Sam started crying. "Why don't you watch TV with your brother while I'm making his bottle?" Mary suggested.

"But he doesn't watch TV yet." Dean protested.

"But you do. I bet Sammy will want to do everything you do." Mary said.

"Because I'm his big brother?" Dean asked, and Mary smiled.

"That's right." She said, "You can watch cartoons in the living room till I finish making your brother's food."

"Can I hold him?" Dean asked. Mary gave him a long look. "I know, I know, only if I'm sitting down, and only if you're there to watch me. But can I?"

"Only if you let me take a picture." Mary said with a smile. Dean smiled back at her and she kissed him, then pulled him to her and hugged him tight.

"Mom," he complained, "I can't breathe!" Mary laughed, kissing him again.

"I love you, Dean."

"I love you, too, Mommy."

TBC


	2. Fire

Out of Our Element 

Disclaimer: Damn you Kripke…

Warning: Unbeta-ed. All mistakes are mine.

A/N: This is the last story (at least chronologically) of Picture Perfect 'verse. The rest of the Wee!Chester stories will be posted in a new series, titled Faded Memories of a Picture Perfect, which would contain stories of the boys after the fire.

Fire

Lawrence, Kansas, November 2nd, 1983

It was late, but Dean just couldn't sleep. He was tired, but there was just something in the air, like an electrical current that kept him from sleeping. He had this feeling, like he gets on Christmas Eve, knowing there're gonna be presents waiting for him under the tree, knowing he'd have to wait all night before he's allowed to go get them… There was this sense of waiting for something, but the little four-year-old didn't know what it was.

The door to his bedroom opened, and Dean looked up. His mother, already wearing her nightgown, was standing in the doorway.

"Dean? Honey, why aren't you sleeping?" she asked, nearing his bed. Dean sat up in bed.

"I don't wanna sleep, Mommy." The little boy answered. Mary sat next to him on the bed, stroking his head affectionately.

"You have to go to sleep, love. You have kindergarten tomorrow." The mother said.

"Can you tell me a story, Mommy?" Mary sighed.

"Just a short one." she conceded. She got up and brought over the story they've been reading, reading Dean a few pages from it before she put the book down, telling her boy it was time to go to sleep. She frowned at the look on Dean's face. "What is it, Dean?" she asked. Dean shrugged, hugging her. "Oh, baby," Mary sighed, "alright, come on. I'll make you some warm milk." She said, picking Dean up in her arms and going over to the kitchen.

When Dean was finished with his milk, Mary took him back upstairs, stopping at Sammy's nursery to check up on him first. She balanced Dean on her hip.

"Come on, let's say good night to your brother." Mary said, turning the lights on in the nursery. She put Dean back down.

Baby Sammy was gurgling, looking at his little mobile with interest, hands and legs flailing uncoordinatedly. He seemed more amused than sleepy. _Just wonderful, it's going to be a long night_, Mary thought.

Dean rushed over to the crib, climbing over the bars and bending over to kiss his baby brother's head. Mary smiled at that. It took him a while, but Dean was finally getting used to the idea of not being an only child. He was finally starting to enjoy it.

"Good night, Sam." Dean said and Mary came over, putting one hand on Dean's back to make sure he doesn't fall. She leaned over the crib, caressing Sam's face.

"Good night, love." She said tenderly, kissing the baby's head.

"Hey, Dean," at the sound of the familiar voice, Dean's head snapped back, blonde hair whipping around.

"Daddy!" Dean cried happily, rushing towards his tired father, who was standing at the doorway, wearing his favorite Marine T-shirt.

"Hey, buddy." John said, a smile on his face as he picked Dean up in his arms with a slight grunt. "So what do you think, you think Sammy's ready to toss around a football yet?" John asked. Dean shook his head, hair flailing again.

"No, Daddy." Dean said laughingly.

"No," John said, and Mary stroked Dean's back lovingly on her way out of the nursery.

"You got him?" she asked tiredly.

"I got him." John said, and Dean laid his head on his father's broad shoulder, wrapping his little arms around his father's neck, feeling safe now that his Daddy was back. John rubbed Dean's back.

"Sweet dreams, Sam." He said before turning off the light and getting out of the nursery. "So how come you're still up, kiddo?" John asked. Dean shrugged, holding his father just a little bit tighter. "You had a good day today?" John asked. Dean nodded.

"I learned how to write 'Sammy' and 'Puppy', and we read a story, and Mrs. Lewis says I'm the smartest kid in class." He said.

"Of course you are." John said proudly, holding onto his son just a little bit tighter, smiling a tired smile. Dean pushed back a little, so he could look at his father better.

"Are you gonna come home early tomorrow? Please Daddy? Please? I think Sammy really misses you."

"We'll see, Dean." John said, turning the light on in Dean's room. It was tidied up, almost no toys lying around. Dean must have been listening when they told him he needed to start cleaning up his room if he wanted to get a big surprise for his birthday.

John laid Dean down on the bed, and Dean crawled under the covers. The bed dipped a little as John sat down next to his boy. Dean smothered a yawn. His Daddy was home now.

"Will you tell me a story?" Dean asked, wanting to spend some more time with his father.

"Oh, I think it's too late for a story, dude." John said.

"But I'm not sleepy." Dean protested around a large yawn. John smiled, kissing his boy's head.

"Just close your eyes, I think you'd be asleep in no time." He said.

"Stay with me?" Dean asked. John nodded.

"You know, your birthday's coming up." He noted. Dean smiled goofily, sticking his hand in his father's face.

"I'll be five." He said, spreading five little fingers.

"Ooh, five." John nodded solemnly. "Gotta watch it, kiddo. Soon you'll be older than your old man." He said seriously, and then smiled. Dean giggled.

"Can I have a party this year too, Daddy? Please?"

"Of course you're gonna have a party." John said, "With balloons and cake and lots of presents." He promised.

"And can I invite Lucas and Ricky and Ginny and Tommy and Tracy?" John chuckled.

"You can invite whoever you want." He promised.

"Yay!" John laughed at that.

"What do you want for your birthday?" John asked, already guessing the answer. Dean hesitated, and John knew exactly why. "Maybe this year, Mommy'll let you have that puppy." John said. Dean's eyes brightened with joy.

"Really?"

"We'll see," John said carefully, "If you're a good big brother and a good boy."

"I'm a good boy, Daddy. I'm a good big brother." Dean said quickly.

"Yes, you are." Mary said from her place in the doorway. John nodded at her and she came closer.

"Time to go to sleep, Dean." John said, tucking the little boy in.

"'Night, Daddy." Dean said, and John got up from the bed, kissing Mary's cheek on his way out the room.

"Good night, Dean." Mary said, turning the light off.

"Mommy, under the bed!" Dean said urgently. Mary sighed silently, turning back to Dean.

"There're no monsters under your bed, baby. You know why?" she asked.

"'Cause _they're_ here?" Dean asked tentatively. Mary sat with him, brushing hair out of his eyes.

"That's right. Because the angels are watching over you." she said, leaning over to kiss him good night. "Good night, love." She added before leaving the room.

"Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite." The little boy answered sleepily, yawning again. Dean stared at the ceiling a moment longer, before falling asleep. The feeling was still there, the tension, the feeling something was going to happen. But his Mommy and Daddy were both there, and there were angels watching over them all.

* * *

A scream. 

A scream woke him up, pulled him from the warm embrace of sleep.

Dean sat up in bed, heart pounding. He listened hard, trying to figure out what was going on.

He was used to being woken up at night, but it was usually his brother's cries that woke him, not screams and shouts. He could hear Daddy yelling, and shivered a little. He pulled his covers tighter around him, mindful of the monsters that might be lurking in the dark under his bed, and listened.

It was quiet.

No one was screaming. No one was yelling anymore, but for some reason, Dean got even more scared, heart pumping hard, eyes welling up.

"Mommy?" Dean cried in a small voice. "Mommy!" he cried again after a moment. "Daddy!" but no one came. The little boy tried calling for him Mommy and Daddy one more time, but still, no one came.

More shouts.

Daddy, looking for Mommy. But he sounded scared, and Daddy's never scared, not even from the monster hiding under the bed. And now Sammy was crying, too. And Dean gasped as a thought occurred to him.

The monsters! What if the monsters snuck out from under his bed and found their way to Sammy's room? Or maybe there were monsters under Sammy's bed, too? Dean's heart doubled its pace. He tried calling out for his parents again, but no one came. And Sammy cried louder.

And then came the heat. A sudden explosion of heat that suffocated him, burnt his lungs, made his heart pound so hard it nearly beat a way out of the four year old's chest. Hesitating a moment longer, Dean peeked under the bed.

His shoes, a sock, his fire truck, a few little green army men, a couple of dust bunnies. No monster though. Because they're not real. Daddy said so. And Mommy said the angels were watching over him, making sure no boogieman was hiding in his closet. He sure wouldn't mind if one of them showed up right now though. Now would be a really good time for an angel to show up, tell him everything was okay.

The heat was getting worse, and Sammy was still crying. Dean hesitated a moment longer before kicking his covers away and scrambling out of bed, running for Mommy and Daddy's room.

"Daddy!"

Dad was in the hallway, a wriggling Sammy in his hands and the heat was suffocating. Dean was scared now, really, really scared, his eyes darting all over the place, trying to see, trying to understand, looking for reassurance.

And then Dad thrust the baby into Dean's arms. Not carefully handed him, but thrust him, and Dean nearly dropped him. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but his father bit him to it.

"Take your brother outside as fast as you can. Don't look back!" Dad had ordered him, urgency in his voice. Dean hesitated for a fracture of a second, because really, there was no way Daddy had just put his baby brother in his hands and told him to run outside, into the dark, with the baby in his hands. Dean's eyes widened as he tried to balance his baby brother in his arms.

Surely, he didn't hear right, because he wasn't even supposed to hold Sammy unless he was sitting down and Mommy or Daddy were watching him – so surely, Daddy didn't really tell him to _run down the stairs_ with Sam in his arms. Dean probably just misunderstood.

"Now, Dean, go!"

His father's voice scared him, and the heat just kept getting stronger, and Sam was still crying. And Dean turned and ran.

In his pajama, feet bare, wriggling baby in his arms, Dean dashed – well, sort of, because Sam might have been little, but so was Dean, and Sammy was heavy, and Dean was a little afraid they'll both fall down the stairs.

Dean's heart was racing, he was breathing hard from fear and effort, the heat baking his skin even as he got downstairs. He was shaking a little, never letting go of his brother. He wasn't sure what to do, because he wasn't supposed to be outside after dark, was never supposed to leave the house alone, wasn't allowed to unlock the door by himself. And he was definitely not supposed to hold Sam on his own. But Dad said… Dad had _ordered_, and Dad only orders like that when Dean'd been bad. Was he being bad?

_Get your brother outside as fast as you can, don't look back._

Dean stared at the door. The locked door.

It was hard enough to try and unlock it without his brother in his arms. He was tall enough to reach the handle now, that's why Mommy never kept the key where he could reach it. There was a spare though, in the kitchen, out of Dean's reach.

Tears were pooling in his eyes now. There was heat and fear and Sam, and where's Mommy? What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to open the door? Was he supposed to let Sam go in order to climb up a chair and reach the key? Was he allowed to put Sam down? Was it safe?

Dad was yelling again. Dean was shaking. He balanced his brother over his shoulder, freeing one hand and trying to reach for the key. Just an inch short. Dean reached farther, trying to stand on the tips of his toes, trying not to drop his brother, and Sam wouldn't stop crying.

"Just a little more, Sammy, I can reach it…" Dean said, stretching his arm as far as he could. Just a little more… Dean bit his lip. Just a little more… _There!_

"You have to stop wriggling, Sammy, or I'll drop you. You're too heavy." Dean breathed. He readjusted the baby in his arms, propping him against his little shoulder as he fiddled with the key. It didn't look so hard when Mommy did it.

It was hot. Everything was hot, and Sam was still crying and Dean would have, too, but he had to get outside. Daddy had said so. Everything would be okay if he could just get outside.

_There!_

Dean yanked the door open, readjusting Sam in his arms again, and not a moment too soon, and ran outside.

It was cold outside, and the quick change from scorching hot to freezing cold stung his eyes, hurt his lungs. Dean figured Sam was just as uncomfortable, so he held his brother closer and ran, barefoot, onto the grass in the front yard.

He turned back, looking up at the nursery window up above. Orange light was coming from the window. Fire.

Sam wriggles in his arms, and Dean held onto him a bit tighter, figured if he was scared, Sammy must have been even more scared, because he was just a baby, he couldn't even talk yet.

"It's okay, Sammy."

Because it was going to be, now. They were outside, Dean would take care of his brother until Daddy and Mommy will put the fire out and take them inside, make them some hot cocoa – well, make Dean some hot cocoa, because Sam was too little to drink it – and put them to bed again. Maybe they'd all sleep together in Mommy and Daddy's room. It'll be okay. Everything will be okay. Mommy and Daddy are coming.

But minutes were ticking by, and no one got out of the house. Dean looked up at the window, and fear gripped him.

No, not fear, because he was being lifted from the ground, carried away from the house. It was so sudden he nearly dropped the baby, but strong arms held on to them both.

"I gotcha!" Daddy said, breathless, in his ear, just as the windows exploded and the fire grew even stronger, even hotter.

The next few minutes made no sense. Just a rush of hot and cold and silence and sound. And then he was sitting on the Impala next to his Dad, who was rocking Sam in his arms. Dean looked around.

"Where's Mommy?" Dean asked in a tiny voice, looking up at his father, but the older man just stared at the burning house, holding the baby closer, saying nothing. Dean looked back at the house, back at the fire eating up the upper floor – Sam's nursery, his parents' room, his own room. Mommy wasn't still in there, right? Dean looked around again, tried to get up and go look for her, but Dad had held onto his hand, pulled him back, told him to stay.

There were sirens. Flashing lights. Fire trucks. Police. Neighbors. So many people, so many flashing lights, so hot and so cold, and still no Mommy. Dean looked back at the house. Nothing made sense. He didn't understand, and he did.

Mommy wasn't coming.

The End


End file.
